“We’re walking along 8th Avenue, approaching 39th Street,” my Ph.D. friend said.

“Who’s ‘we’?” I asked. I personally don’t like talking on the phone with someone who has company, primarily because I wouldn’t want to be the company listening to someone yap on the phone.

“You and me,” he brightly answered. “What the @#$%? That car just totally ran a red light”—I could envision him gesturing to the offending motor vehicle—”people here in New York are angry today.”

I laughed at him. This was the first time we had enjoyed a telephone conversation with each other since his relocation from Seattle to New York City nearly two weeks ago. He had already peppered his speech with several expletives, though I figured that he wasn’t entirely aware of it.

After we had passed 41st Street, he again interrupted himself and blurted, “*&$% it—okay, I get that you have places to go, but that doesn’t mean you have to ^%!#ing bump into me. I get it that you’re trying to assert your space; yeah, maybe the only way you can establish your #&!@ing dominance is by walking in a straight line down the sidewalk and yes, I’m walking in a straight line down the sidewalk, but even though you think you’re important, that doesn’t mean that you can just run into other people. What the ^*#@ is wrong with some people?”

We both knew that he wasn’t truly upset; he was merely providing social commentary about life on the sidewalk in New York. However, over the past two years, I had come to recognize that the number of expletives he uses is directly proportional to how irritable he feels. In the two weeks prior to the completion of his dissertation, he was constantly mouthing off. Following the defense of his thesis, he uttered not one profane word over dinner.

“And the tourists here!” he exclaimed. I laughed at him again—he hasn’t lived in New York City for even a full week and he was already offering invectives about tourists! “They walk so slow! If I know where I need to go, I wish these ^*@!ing tourists would move out of the way so I could go!”

He paused.

“People here have walk rage, they really @*$@ing do,” he commented.

“You’re going to do so well in New York, you know,” I said, smiling.

“I hope so,” he answered. “Sooo… how are you?”

“Well,” I started, replacing the cap on the pen that boasted merlot ink, “when you called, I was writing down subway directions for all the places I need to go—”

He started to laugh at me. “You’re so cute.”

“I’m not sure that it’s ‘cute’,” I answered, looking over the four sets of directions I had already scribed. “I know it’s neurotic, but I have several interviews and I want to make sure I know where I’m going, you know.”

“You’re writing down subway directions. Wow. I didn’t know that you could reach that level of neuroticism—”

“Really? This surprises you?”

“Well, sort of—though I mean ‘neurotic’ in the best way possible, of course.”

Oh pul-lease.

I looked down at the small stack of index card-sized sheets and glowed a bit with pride. I didn’t share with him the level of detail in these directions, for fear that he would soon mean “neurotic” in the worst way possible.

The directions on these sheets are color-coded. The first line, written in a colored (but not grey) ink, indicates the starting and ending locations (e.g. JFK → hotel). The number in the parentheses immediately following the end location indicates the estimated amount of travel for the trip (e.g. 45”).

The bulk of the directions are written in grey ink in neat print (sometimes my penmanship is illegible; sometimes it’s enviable). I used the appropriate ink color for the various subway lines (red ink for the 1, 2, and 3 trains; yellow for the N, Q, R, and W trains; etc.). I’ve indicated what is the stop immediately prior to the stop I need, so I have some warning as to when I am supposed to exit the train.

Immediately following the directions is the address of my destination, written in the same colored ink as the first line.

Underneath the address is a small map that features labelled streets (in black ink) and a small “x” in a circle (in the same colored ink as the address) to visually mark the desired location.

“I can’t wait for you to come to New York!” my friend said. “We’ll have so much fun once you get here.”

Neuroticism: It’s an irresistible charm.